three order. Not a man reached first, and the last two were disposed of by the strike-out route.

“Stretch” was the word that ran through the stands as the Chicagos came in for their half of the “lucky seventh,” and the crowd rose as one man and stretched while cries of encouragement went up for their favorites.

The charm failed this time, however, for though they gathered one hit off Jim, it counted for nothing, as the next three went out in succession. Jim was certainly pitching airtight ball.

But in the latter half of the eighth, after the Giants had failed to add to their score, there came one of the sudden changes that illustrated once more the uncertainty of the national game.

The head of the Cubs’ batting order was up, and their supporters were frantically urging them to do something.

Burton did his best, and sent up a high fly to Curry at right. It looked as though it were made to order for the latter, who did not have to budge from his tracks. The ball came down directly in his hands—and he dropped it!

A mighty roar went up from the crowd, who had looked upon it as an easy out, which it should have been, and Burton, who had slowed up a little, put on speed, rounded first and started for second.

Curry, rattled by his error, fumbled at the ball, and when he did recover it lined it in the direction of second. But it went wide of Barrett, and though Jim, who was backing him up, caught and returned it, Burton was already on the bag.

Gallagher, the next man up, popped a Texas leaguer that Burkett and Barrett ran out for.

“I’ve got it,” cried Barrett.

“It’s mine,” shouted the burly first baseman.

Each unfortunately believed the other and held back, waiting for his comrade to make the catch. As a result, the ball dropped between them and rolled some distance away.

Burton, who had held the bag, started for third. Burkett retrieved the ball and without getting set hurled it to third. It went high over Renton’s head and rolled to the stands. Burton kept right on and crossed the plate for the first run of the game. Gallagher, in the general excitement, reached second.

Pandemonium broke loose among the Chicago rooters.

“We’ve got them going!” was the cry.

“All over but the shouting!”

Evans, the Chicago manager, sent in his best pinch hitter, Miller, and put a fast rookie, Houghton, on second to run in the place of Gallagher, who was of the ice-wagon type.

To give his comrades time to recover somewhat from their demoralization, Jim stooped down to lace his shoe. He was a long time doing this, and then was very deliberate in taking his place on the mound.

He whizzed over a high fast one that Miller struck at and missed. The next he fouled off. The third just missed cutting the corner of the plate, and it went for a ball. On the next, Miller lay down a bunt that rolled slowly along the third base line.

It looked as though it were going to roll foul, and Renton gave it a chance to do so. However, it kept on the inside of the line, and by the time Renton had gathered it up, Miller had easily reached first.

Wallace went to the bat with orders to wait Jim out, trusting to the hope that the latter would by this time be rattled, because the breaks of the game seemed to be going against him. But when two beauties in succession cut the corners of the plate for strikes, while he stood there like a wooden Indian, he changed his mind.

To make him hit into a double play, Jim made the next an outcurve. Nine times out of ten the batter hits that kind of ball into the dirt. It ran according to form this time also. Wallace hit a grounder that went straight to Larry Barrett at second. Larry set himself for the ball, while Iredell ran over to cover the bag for a double play.

But just before the ball reached Barrett, it took a high bound, went over his head and rolled out into centerfield. Gallagher scored, Miller reached third, and Wallace got to second on a long slide, just escaping being nipped by McGuire’s return of the ball.

With two runs in, no one out, and a man each on second and third, it looked bad for the Giants. A single hit would probably score both of the occupants of the bags. Even two outfield sacrifice flies would do it.

The din was tremendous as the crowds yelled in chorus, trying to rattle the already shaky visiting team. But the noise subsided somewhat as Jim put on steam and set down Mollocher on three successive strikes.

Greaves came up next, and lashed out at the first ball pitched, sending a grasser toward first. Burkett made a good pick-up, stepped on the bag, putting out Greaves, and then hurled to Mylert to catch Miller, who was legging it to the plate. But although Mylert made a mighty leap, the ball went over his head and before it could be recovered both Miller and Wallace had crossed the plate, making the score four to three in favor of the Chicagos.

And the Chicago rooters promptly went mad!

CHAPTER IV
FROM BAD TO WORSE

That nightmare inning came to an end without further scoring, as Jim struck out Lasker on four pitched balls. Then, with a sigh of relief, Jim pulled off his glove and went in to the bench, while a sheepish and disgruntled lot of Giants followed him in for their last inning. McRae was white with anger, and had no hesitation in telling the team what he thought of them.

“You bunch of four-flushers!” he stormed. “Throwing the ball all around the lot like a gang of schoolboys. You fellows are Giants—I don’t think. You’re a disgrace to your uniforms. You’re drawing your salaries on false pretenses. Letting those fellows get four runs in a single inning without making a real hit. What do you want the pitcher to do—strike out every man that comes to the bat, while you go to sleep in the field? You make me tired. You ought to join the Ladies’ Bloomer League. And even then Maggie Murphy’s team would put it all over you. Go in there now and get those runs back.”

With their faces burning from the tongue lashing of their irate manager, the Giants went in for their last inning.

Larry was first up and cracked out a sharp single to right that looked at first as though he might stretch it to a double, but it was so smartly relayed that he found it advisable to scramble back to the initial bag.

Jim was next up. The first two balls pitched were wide of the plate and he refused to bite. The next one, however, he caught right on the seam for a liner that went whistling into right for a double.

Larry had started at the crack of the bat, and had rounded second by the time Jim got to first. He kept on to third, where Iredell was on the coaching line. There he should have been retained, for Burton, who was renowned for his throwing arm, had by this time got the ball and was setting himself for the throw. Iredell, however, urged Larry on, with the consequence that when he slid into the plate the ball was there waiting for him. Jim, in the meantime, had reached second.

Larry picked himself up, brushed himself off and went to the bench, muttering growls against Iredell for having egged him on. Had two men been out there might have been some excuse for taking the chance. But with none out, it was almost certain that, either by a hit or a sacrifice, he could have been brought in with the run that would have tied the score.

Mylert tried to kill the ball, but hit it on the under side and it went up in a high fly that was easily gobbled up by the Cubs’ first